


Make a Haven of Me

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mortal, Arranged Marriage, Book and I are on Team Nile Deserves Orgasms, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, F/M, Frottage, I don't care what history says, Interracial Relationship, Married Sex, Misunderstandings, POV Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Period Typical Attitudes, Sexual Content, So much domesticity, also me: indulges in what amounts to gender roles porn, feat. Sébastien "I've made a huge mistake" le Livre, look we're all sluts for things in fiction that we'd hate in real life and that is OKAY, me: gender roles are stupid and fake and I hate them, very frank and likely historically inaccurate discussions of the necessity of female pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: Sébastien could do nothing about the fact that they had not married for love, but he could make sure his new wife was not condemned to a marriage without pleasure.Written for the promptNile/Booker + Regency!ruined Nile’s first nights with her new husband.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 22
Kudos: 118
Collections: Book of Nile Collection!





	Make a Haven of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I may have squealed ~~a little bit~~ _a lot_ when I saw [this gorgeous prompt](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/8523.html?thread=2998859#cmt2998859). It’s everything I love and I couldn’t resist filling it. 🥰 In the process I kind of went all out with the tropes… Please enjoy!!!
>
>> _Nile through malicious means has had her reputation tarnished beyond saving, and Booker as a friend of the family agrees to help out by marrying her so she doesn't completely lose her social standing. Booker doesn't know that the rumors are lies though, because of course anyone with sense would maintain their innocence. He's already been married but made a widower. Maybe he’s too rough with Nile on their wedding night, or he moves too fast or expects too much of her, but Nile is frightened and uncomfortable, and Booker sets out to prove to his new bride that she has no reason to fear him or their marriage bed over the course of their honeymoon/first months living together._   
> 

Sébastien le Livre was not accustomed to women being frightened of him.

In fact, when he stopped to think about it, he could not remember the last time he had frightened _anyone,_ be it a man or a woman, on purpose or otherwise. It was just not something he did. He was not one for fighting or yelling, and he did not find amusement or satisfaction in a woman’s tears. And yet somehow, without knowing exactly why, he had become a kind of tormentor to his own wife.

He saw the way she tensed whenever they were alone in a room together. 

He noticed how she flinched when he touched her.

She tried to hide it, but the fear betrayed her every time.

He did not know where it had come from. It was not as if they had walked into this marriage as complete strangers. They had known each other for years, though admittedly only as acquaintances. But he had enjoyed her company all the same and he had always gotten the impression that she had enjoyed his too. He liked to think _that_ was the reason why her family came to him—that she had somehow had a hand in the scheme of their marriage—but he knew that was all wishful thinking. 

Her family was desperate, and they knew him to be honorable. That was it. She had not made any decisions; she had simply done as she was told. Just as he had done what was required.

Sébastien could still remember the surprise he’d felt, opening his door one morning to find her younger brother standing there on his stoop, stammering and fidgeting and doing his best to play the patriarch. Sébastien had laughed at the boy’s formalities, teasing him, and then when he realized it was not a teasing matter, he fell silent and listened. The younger Freeman sibling had not offered much in the way of details, but Sébastien knew how to read between the lines of _My sister is in a very precarious position_ and _You, sir, have always been a very good friend to our family._

And then the Freeman boy had gone and invoked his dead father _—He always spoke so highly of you—_ and Sébastien knew he didn’t have a choice. What argument could he make? He was three years past the death of his own bride; the time had long since passed for him to remarry. And he was fond of the Freemans; he had always enjoyed their company and support. A month ago, he might’ve given a limb for any one of them.

And now, he supposed, he was to give the remainder of his life instead.

It had been quick. Sébastien had followed the Freeman boy home, giving him half a day’s headstart for appearances’ sake. By the time Sébastien crossed their threshold that afternoon, the matter had clearly been discussed and decided upon. Mrs. Freeman met him in the entryway, tears in her eyes just the same as when he’d visited upon hearing the news of her husband’s passing. She’d managed to stand and greet him then too. Sébastien had not been capable of the same when she’d called on him after Joanna’s death.

“You are so very kind,” Mrs. Freeman said as she led him to the parlor, “to offer to look after our Nile in this way.”

Sébastien had said nothing. He followed Mrs. Freeman into the room, and there she was, rising from a chair by the fire. The ruined girl—or so she would be if he did not get out the words and offer her salvation.

Had it been salvation?

He tried to remember if she had flinched from him that day. Had she looked at him with fear? Disgust? He could not recall. They had stood on opposite sides of the room and all he remembered was that she was small and thin and quiet. She had hardly spoken beyond the requisite pleasantries and the expected affirmation. There was little left of the smiling, laughing, teasing young woman he was accustomed to seeing whenever he had visited the Freeman home in the past. 

The wedding happened soon after that. Soon enough to raise eyebrows, but there was no way of getting around that. Sébastien did his best to ignore the gossip, but still, he heard snippets as he passed through town. Things her brother hadn’t known, or hadn’t wanted to believe, or hadn’t been able to voice aloud.

_She was spotted alone with a man—_

_I heard multiple men._

_In a state of undress—_

_Naked, I was told. Can you imagine?_

_Her poor mother._

_Her poor brother!_

_And_ him— _first a widower, and now_ this.

Before they said their vows, Sébastien swore to himself that he would never ask her to explain her situation. He would never force her to describe the incident, or incidents. He would never make her name the men she had shared herself with before him. She had been maligned enough in town and she did not deserve to receive it from him at home as well. Neither of them were coming to the altar unscathed, which he supposed was fair in a way.

Their wedding night was, by all accounts, embarrassingly brief. Three years away from women had decimated the stamina he’d used to pride himself on. Once upon a time, he’d been able to keep his wife awake half the night, listening to her crying out for more. Now all he had was a girl he hardly knew trembling beneath him, looking up with the question clear in her eyes: _Is that it?_

Had she experienced better before? Worse? He didn’t know, and he told himself it didn’t matter. He pulled away, murmured a goodnight, rolled over with the intention of dropping off to sleep, but of course oblivion didn’t come so easily. He’d done what was expected of him—both spoken and unspoken. They were now, in every way that counted, officially husband and wife. And if she was already with child, as many whispered and her family no doubt feared, then they could now believably pass it off as his. Sébastien wouldn’t need to subject her to any more evenings like this for a while.

Or at least, that had been the idea: to leave her be, and let what was already growing inside her to mature.

But he had forgotten what it was like to have a woman in his bed. In the three years since his first wife had died, he had not touched anyone else. He had wanted to, every once in a while. But whenever he tried to make such a fantasy reality, he always thought of Joanna, alone in that cold deep grave without him, and any warmth he might feel for another was extinguished.

But it was different with Nile. The temptation was unbearable, and even his good intentions couldn’t stop him once he started. She was so soft and beautiful and _young_ and she did not protest and even though he knew her silence was not proof of anything, he couldn’t help but take it as encouragement. Everywhere he touched, she was warm and smooth and after so many years of _nothing_ and _no one,_ of so many cold nights alone, perhaps he got too carried away with her. Perhaps he touched her too much or too roughly.

He never knew what he did wrong, exactly, because she never said a word against any of it. She simply lay there beneath him and held on, taking what he gave, and a very sensible voice in his head told him that that was how it was supposed to be. Sébastien knew if he were to speak to any of his friends about the matter, they would tell him that she would get used to his attentions in time as every wife did. 

But such thoughts didn’t sit right with him, especially when something as simple as him walking into a room seemed to set her on edge. That was no way to carry on a marriage, even a loveless one, so he resolved to do better.

The only problem was that he didn’t know where to start. He stopped reaching for her in the evenings, surely that was a step in the right direction, but beyond that he was at a loss. He had never before had to purposefully cultivate such an intimate relationship in his life. Everything had come so naturally with Joanna. They had known each other since childhood, and been each other’s firsts in every way—first kisses, first touches, first loves. They had always had each other. They had explored and learned and grown _together,_ always as one.

With Nile, it seemed like they were standing on opposite sides of an ocean, just barely able to perceive one another across the gulf. Eventually Sébastien had to conclude that there was nothing else to be done except dive into the deep and try to make it over to her shores.

His first forays were careful, awkward fumbles. He sought her out when ordinarily they would have spent time apart. He carried on conversation through meals when typically they would have sat in silence. When she ran errands in town, he insisted on accompanying her and he bore his share of the stares and whispers. When she sat up in the evenings to sew, he took a seat nearby and read. He knew merely spending time in close proximity was a low bar to meet, but he felt like he was making progress regardless. 

For the first few nights, he could tell she was still tense in bed, waiting for him to crawl on top of her again, but after a couple weeks the anxiety seemed to fade away. She soon fell asleep quickly and easily and then it was only him laying awake, wondering what to do next. They couldn’t go on like this forever; even she had to recognize that.

And she did. One evening, without saying a word, she reached for his hand beneath the sheets. He held it as he turned to study her face for clues of what she wanted. Did she reach for him out of genuine desire, or because she thought she was supposed to?

When he shifted closer, just to test her, she did not move away. They stared at one another, neither daring to break the stalemate, until suddenly she surged forward, pressing her lips against his. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to grip her hand too tightly. Everything in him wanted to pull her close, strip her naked, push inside…

But he was determined to do better than before, and so instead he just kissed her. Slowly and chastely, resisting the urge to slip his tongue between those soft lips of hers. He wasn’t sure how long it went on, but eventually he had had far too much of _not enough,_ and he had to pull away.

Even in the darkness, he could sense the confusion in her face, but he could not muster an explanation. He feared any reassuring touch might end in him doing more than was prudent, so he squeezed her hand once before letting go, whispering only _Sleep now_ before putting his back to her.

She did not move for many minutes. He listened to the blood rushing in his ears and tried not to think about how she was laying there waiting for more and how easy it would be to simply take what he was rightfully owed as her husband. Finally, he heard the rustle of their bedcovers as she turned away too. It felt like an eternity before he found sleep that night, and when he woke, she was already dressed and gone.

The next few days repeated the pattern: he did his best to be her friend during the day, and nothing more than that in the evening, unless she was the one to instigate it. And she didn’t, not at first. They slept—or tried to. He heard her tossing and turning in the night, and it was not hard to understand the root of her restlessness, because he felt it too.

But he didn’t trust himself not to repeat previous mistakes, so he waited.

The next time she reached for him in the night, he kissed her back with abandon. He meant to be as careful as last time, but he knew his control was slipping when he took her breast in hand and kneaded it through the fabric of her nightgown, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he could swear he heard her moan—but maybe that was only wishful thinking. He _wanted_ her to want him, just like Joanna had. The love would never be there, he knew that. But desire was still worth something, still meant something.

He could feel her trying to keep pace with his kisses, and the realization added to the excitement swirling in his body. 

When he slid a leg between hers and pressed it against her sex, she whimpered, and he started to pull back, fearful he’d moved too fast again, but she fisted the collar of his nightshirt, holding him in place. And then she was moving forward, rocking against his thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he just barely managed to hold in a curse. The tender flesh between her thighs was hot, and he could feel it growing slick already.

He leaned forward and captured her mouth in a hard kiss, one hand traveling from her neck down her arm until he found her hand and squeezed it tight. It took far too much concentration to keep the movements of his leg gentle and slow against her sex, and he knew he was guilty of pouring his frustration into the kiss, but he couldn’t stop. He was comforted by the touch of her hand, alternating between gripping his clothes and grabbing at his cheek, always pulling him closer and seemingly unable to get enough.

Neither of them spoke, but they could not hold in the quiet sounds of want that escaped from between their lips, nor the creaking of the bed beneath them. She was soon panting, and having trouble returning his kisses while she rode his thigh, so he moved his lips to her neck instead, kissing and sucking at her overheated skin as he slid a hand around her back to guide her and keep her close.

He could feel her nails digging into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his nightclothes, and when her body started to tremble around him, he knew it could only be moments until—

She let out the softest little cry when she found her pleasure, and he had to grit his teeth together so he wouldn’t bite the tender flesh of her neck.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, rubbing his hand against her back. “Shh, it’s all right. Hush now.”

As carefully as he could, he withdrew his leg from between hers, doing his best to keep his own arousal in check and not take advantage of her bliss. He knew all it would take was one touch to roll her onto her back, another to spread those slick thighs of hers wide… 

Sébastien gritted his teeth, banishing the thought as he pulled fully away. She was still breathing hard beside him, not quite back to herself, but she had enough wits about her to see what he was doing.

“What about…” She trailed off, licking her lips nervously as her eyes darted down to the lower half of his body, still hidden beneath the covers. 

He shook his head at the half-spoken question. “Not tonight,” he told her. He was grateful the covers were thick and the room was pitch dark; it was easier to hide the hardness between his legs.

She was still watching him, but he refused to meet her eyes. He murmured a goodnight and then put his back to her. A few silent seconds passed before she returned the words in kind, but he did not hear the rustle of the sheets indicating she had moved.

He lay there, coiled tight and trying not to think about her eyes on his back. He wanted desperately to take himself in hand, but he couldn’t while she was still awake beside him. He waited for hours until eventually exhaustion crept over him.

The days that followed were a kind of wonderful torture. She no longer flinched from his touch. Instead, she sought it out—and somehow that was so much better and so much worse. She was greedy for kisses, he soon discovered, and no longer shy about taking them. She liked to feel his body against hers, often during the day but especially at night, and she was forever pulling him closer when he was trying to keep some space between their lower halves. She did not dare reach for _that_ part of him, but at this rate, he didn’t think he had much longer before she’d have enough courage to try.

More than the intimate moments they shared in bed, it was the small, everyday touches that he found most overwhelming. Her hand on his shoulder as she served him dinner, a nervous smile on her face as she waited for his approval. The way she curled in close against his back while they slept in bed, seeking out his warmth when the blankets were not enough. Her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow as they walked through town, and that old smile of hers always coming to the surface whenever they spoke.

There was a difference in the way they moved together through the world now. The space that had always been there between them, even in polite company, was gone. The stares they received in town were less damning and more curious. Even the whispers felt softened.

Or maybe he was once again past worrying what others thought of him. It was easier to drown them all out now that he and Nile knew how to talk to one another. Sébastien no longer had to scour his mind for topics of conversation; one subject rolled into the next as naturally as a river flows, and when there were moments of stillness and silence, they no longer felt so torturous.

As they moved around the square on market days, Sébastien noticed that she asked for his opinion constantly. _Chicken or duck? This loaf or that? The blue ribbon or the red?_ At first, he thought she was seeking his instruction, but when she murmured disagreement three times in a row to his answers and yet still kept asking, he realized she simply wanted to hear his thoughts, not necessarily heed them. It was a strangely freeing epiphany—he imagined for a moment that he could tell her anything, and she would find a way to take it in stride.

In the evenings, after supper was finished and the kitchen cleaned, they would sit together and while away candlelit hours in an easy silence. While he read or wrote letters, she did needlework or sometimes sketched in a small journal.

He customarily took up the armchair in the evenings, leaving her the settee, but one day he decided instead to join her. When she came in from cleaning the kitchen, she stopped up short at the sight of him there, but he could tell she was pleased from the way she ducked her head as she moved to join him. She sat on the opposite end of the settee that night, but over the course of a few nights, they each moved closer and closer until there was no space left between them at all. 

Sometimes she set aside her sewing early in the evenings and simply rested her head against his shoulder, watching the fire or dozing before bed. One evening, after she tired of scratching away in her journal, she curled up on her side and placed a small pillow against his thigh before resting her head atop it. He expected for her drift off into sleep as she watched the fire, but instead she whispered a request.

“Will you read to me, please?”

“Will I…?” He peered skeptically at her over the binding of the book in his hands. “It is not very captivating, this book. And it’s in French. I will be slow at translating it for you.”

“I don’t mind if it’s boring. And you can read in French if you like; I don’t need to understand the words.”

“Ah, I see.” A smile spread across his face as he caught on. “You want to be put to sleep.”

But she shook her head.

“No,” she corrected softly. “I don’t want to sleep. I just want to hear your voice.”

He stared down at her, suddenly very aware of each beat of his heart within his chest. Did she know what saying those sorts of things did to him? For a moment, he entertained the idea of tossing the book aside, picking her up, and taking them both back to the bedroom.

But she was laying there beneath him, looking up and waiting hopefully, and he knew it was the small, everyday moments like this that mattered more than all the rest. They were the bedrock on which all the rest of the trust between the two of them would be built. So he took a breath, found his spot in the book again, and began to read aloud. He spoke too quickly at first, self-conscious at the assigned task and tripping over his words, but after a few minutes he found a good volume, a good rhythm, and the reading became easier. He held the book with one hand, and when he wasn’t busy using the other to turn pages, she took to holding it loosely in her own, close against her chest. Over time, Sébastien found himself reading more slowly, and sometimes repeating the same paragraphs over and over again, just so he wouldn’t have any reason to pull his hand away from hers.

She did end up falling asleep after an hour or so, but he kept reading aloud anyway. He found it helpful, actually. The book was a rather dense history gifted from one of his brothers-in-law, and reciting the passages made some of the information easier to digest. Eventually, his eyes began to get tired as well. He shut the book and set it aside. His wife was still asleep in his lap.

As gently as he could, Sébastien maneuvered himself out from under her and onto his feet. He bent down, sliding one arm behind her back and another behind her knees before lifting her up. He gritted his teeth at the burden. She wasn’t all that heavy in truth, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up another human being. He was careful with her as he blew out the candles, stepped into the other room, and deposited her on their bed.

She woke as he began to undress her, murmuring something about how he didn’t need to trouble himself, but he brushed her sleepy offer aside. He helped her out of one garment and then the other, and when he returned with a nightgown to cover her bare body, he saw she’d already crawled under the covers.

“You... don’t want to dress for bed?” he asked dumbly.

“I am already in bed.”

He could not argue that point, so he set the fabric aside, and focused on changing into his own nightclothes. He refused to contemplate joining her in bed naked. He knew what would happen if he did that, and he did not feel ready. It was too soon. They still had much to sort through together.

He could feel her eyes on him as he made his way across the room and climbed into bed. He spent an inordinate amount of time settling himself: tugging at blankets and kicking at sheets and adjusting the pillow beneath his head. But eventually he had to lay still, and when he did, she was there waiting for him.

“May I ask you something?”

Her voice was a tentative whisper, and he shut his eyes against it. He did not want to look at her. He wanted them to go to sleep as they had had for so many nights, delaying conversations of substance for yet another day. But instead he did what was expected, and he invited her question with a nod.

“Have I displeased you in some way, husband?”

His eyes shot open at the question.

“Displeased me?” he repeated, turning to look at her. “Why in the world would you think that?”

Now it was she who could not meet his eyes. “Because.” She chewed on her lower lip. She was going to rip the skin if she hadn’t already. “You do not act like a husband should.”

He blinked, mind racing. Lord, what had he done wrong now? Why was he incapable of doing a single thing right in this mess of a marriage?

“If I have disrespected you in some way—”

“You do not touch me,” she interrupted softly, and he froze at her words. Shame was sinking like a lead weight into his stomach and he knew it would only get worse. “You have not taken me as your wife, not since those first few weeks.” Maybe she remembered those more recent evenings where her body rubbed against his, and the pleasure they found without penetration, for she added quickly, “Not in the way that we—we are supposed to. Not _together._ Whenever I try, you pull away.”

“I’ve... been tired,” he said stupidly, unable to think of a better lie and furious at himself for it. All these books he’s read, and still he could not find the words to explain himself?

“You cannot possibly be tired every evening.”

“Why are you speaking to me like this?” he demanded. “What do you want of me?”

“I only want to know what I’ve done wrong, please,” she whispered, and her voice was so desperate it nearly broke. Sébastien had to close his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the hurt swimming in her eyes. “I know I have disappointed you in some way, and if you would only tell me—”

“You are not a disappointment to me. You have never disappointed me, not before we said our vows nor after.”

There was silence then, and for a second he thought he’d actually gotten through to her. But then her face pinched and she sucked in a rattling breath and her voice shook as she asked, “Why do you insist on lying to me like this?”

“Nile—”

“I know you married me at great risk to your reputation,” she forged ahead, doing her best to speak over him. As her words gathered steam, her voice lost its tremor, finding a kind of determination he hadn’t realized she was still capable of. “You made me yours and you gave me a home when no one else would, and I am grateful to you for that. I will always be grateful to you, for all the kindness and patience you have shown me. But we cannot continue to be husband and wife in name only. There are things that are expected of me, and of you too. Now if you would simply tell me how I can change, what I can do better, I promise that I will try my best to be what you want, and need. I know...” For the first time she faltered, and dropped her eyes. “I know I can never take the place of your first wife—”

“I do not want you to take her place. I have never wanted that.”

Nile stared at him with desperation so clearly written on her face that he knew he could not sidestep the truth anymore. It would tear the both of them apart, and ruin this happy little peace they’d found. The only way out, he realized, would require addressing everything that he had very much wished would remain unspoken.

“If you’d let me,” he began quietly, “I would like to be very honest with you.”

She nodded once, shallowly, like maybe she was afraid of what she might hear. He didn’t blame her. He was afraid to talk about it. But he drew in a deep breath, marshaled his thoughts, and he did his best to explain all that had been haunting him over the last few months.

He described the first time he remembered seeing her flinch from him, and how it led him to reevaluate their relationship. He told her how he came to believe that the root cause of her fear must be something he had done in bed, and he apologized for not realizing sooner. He confessed the vow he’d made, that he wouldn’t touch her unless she touched him first, and even then, how he would do his best to always be gentle with her.

“I am sorry for the pain I caused, during those nights and ever since. I am sorry I made you feel less than. When I said you have never disappointed me, I meant it, Nile. But...” He sighed. “I know I have disappointed you. And I am sorry I did not try to make amends earlier. I… Truthfully, I did not know how to speak of the matter.”

“It is not your fault,” she whispered. “I was being childish those first few nights. But I am past that now.”

“Childish?” He frowned at the word. She was many things, but she was not childish. She had always been wise beyond her years and a little frightening because of it. “What do you mean?”

He could see her fiddling with her hands beneath the covers, just like her brother had the day he’d come by with his proposition. It wasn’t until Sébastien placed his hand on top of hers that they stilled.

“I am not sure if you will remember this,” she began softly. “But you visited one winter, with your wife. It must’ve been four or five years ago now. You came in the afternoon, just before a storm, and by the time you went to leave after dinner, the roads were impassable. So the two of you stayed one night and then another, and another, until the roads were clear again.”

She paused, and though he waited, she did not continue.

“I… don’t understand,” he said finally.

“I used to watch you two,” she confessed. Hushed and hurried, like it was some kind of secret. “I used to watch the way you looked at each other, and talked to each other, the way you moved together… I’d never seen any couple so in love. The whole time you stayed with us, all I could think was that I wanted what you two had. I hoped that I could find someone who… _matched me_ the way you two did. It’s silly,” she whispered, flashing an embarrassed smile, “but the two of you were so happy together and I thought that meant… I thought that we would be too. Or at least I thought that what we did together, as husband and wife, would be pleasurable.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she rushed past him.

“But I understand now,” she whispered earnestly. “These past few weeks—I see what you are trying to show me. We can have kindness and softness in other parts of our life. But what we do together, at night… It still needs to be done. It doesn’t matter how it feels. And that’s all right.”

“No. No, you misunderstand me. It _does_ matter how it feels, Nile. _That_ is what I’ve been trying to show you. The things we do together…” He pushed past a flush of embarrassment and tried to be as clear as possible. “Nile, listen to me. When we touch each other at night, it is supposed to feel good. Not painful. It should feel good when I am inside you too. There shouldn’t be pain, not now. And…” He faltered, shamed, but forced himself to continue. “I am sorry there was pain before. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she whispered.

She looked down then, and whispered something he couldn’t hear. When he asked her to repeat it, it seemed to take courage for her to find the words again.

“I had heard the first time would be painful, but I thought... I thought maybe you would know how to stop it from hurting so much. Since you’ve done it all before.”

 _First time,_ Sébastien thought, not understanding. Not willing to understand. And then he froze as the inescapable truth paralyzed him.

“But I thought you had already… I mean, I heard… Didn’t you—?”

“I never did _that."_ Her face opened in outrage, and then flushed with shame as she confessed, “We… He and I just kissed each other, when we were alone. And maybe… maybe I touched him, too, but only because he asked me to. And it wasn’t like everyone says. It was only one boy, and we never did more than that, I swear. He wanted to, but I knew it wasn’t right, so I said no. And I kept saying no, and… I guess I must’ve made him angry, because then everyone was spreading all these awful lies about me, and where else could they have come from?”

“Oh.”

Sébastien suddenly felt very lightheaded. A number of unsavory things were becoming very clear all at once, and none of them spelled anything good for him. He turned his eyes to the ceiling.

“Are you disgusted with me?” his wife whispered.

“No, I…”

He trailed off, unable to speak properly as he was bombarded by memories. All this time, he assumed she had come to their marriage as experienced as he had been—perhaps more so, given that he had only ever been with Joanna while Nile had been rumored to have numerous lovers. He thought back to their first few evenings together, the way she had shook beneath him, watching him with those wide eyes. He had assumed her to be putting on a show to prove her innocence, just as she had when she’d donned that white dress to stand beside him at the altar. But in truth she had just been a scared girl, as virginal as every bride purported to be. He had bought into the wrong lie, and she had suffered for it.

“I’m disgusted with myself,” Sébastien confessed. “I was… I was not paying enough attention to you. I thought you had come to our marriage with enough prior experience that you would not need…”

He shook his head, trailing off. How had he gotten every step of this wrong?

“You believed the rumors.”

There was no outrage in her voice. No sadness. Just calm resignation to a truth that couldn’t be avoided.

“I am sorry,” he repeated. His voice strained with effort. 

“You don’t need to apologize. Everyone believes the rumors, even my mother.”

 _I’m not everyone,_ he wanted to say. He shared a life with this woman, a home with her, a _bed_. He should know her better than everyone else. But he didn’t. Even after all this time, all these strides he’s sought to make to repair their relationship, he’s come no closer to knowing her or having her know him.

By keeping the past in the past, he had thought only to spare her pain and shame, but in fact all he’d done was maximize both. It was a miracle she still spoke to him.

“Nile, why did you never tell me it was all lies? All slander?” When her face pinched in hurt, he rushed to add, “I don’t mean to blame you. But if you had only told me…”

“I did not expect you would believe me if I told the truth,” she whispered. “And I didn’t want you to look at me and see a liar as well as a… a...”

She couldn’t say the word, and he wasn’t about to voice it himself. It took her a few seconds to continue.

“You have never looked down on me,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse now, and he could hear how much it took out of her to say these things aloud. He could feel it too, a kind of sharp pain in his chest. “You had every right to, but you have never treated me poorly, not even for a day since we married.”

“You are my wife,” he felt the need to point out. Did she not understand what that meant?

“I am only your wife only because you deigned to be my husband. Because you are a good and generous man, and did a favor for my family.” She paused, and in a low voice, she muttered, “Because you let my baby brother guilt you into it.”

“He did not guilt me into anything,” Sébastien argued, insulted by the assumption. “I could have said no to your brother. No to your mother. It wouldn’t have been easy, but if I truly hadn’t wanted to marry you, I could have done it. But I didn’t.”

Sébastien paused. He had never really stopped to question his own motives before. Truthfully, he had never once thought of saying no since her brother had asked. But nor had he ever closely examined the reasons why he’d so readily said yes without fully examining the consequences.

He cared for her family, yes. He respected the man her father had been, and understood the difficult position his wife and children were in without him to support them. And he had not wanted to see a nice girl like her suffer, regardless of whether the rumors about her were true or not.

Those were all good enough reasons. True enough to explain how the two of them had ended up where they were now, married and sharing a bed. But those reasons didn’t paint the whole picture, perhaps because he’d never before let himself contemplate the full picture.

“Your brother did not need to say a word to convince me. Your mother neither. You could have just as well appeared on my doorstep that day and asked me yourself and I would have said yes, regardless of the circumstances. Because I wanted to help you and… Nile, I wanted you too,” he confessed. He’d never let himself think about it before, but the second the words left his lips, he knew they were true. Had been true for a while now, despite how much he’d tried to ignore the feeling. “I said yes to your brother because I wanted you in my life. I wanted you as my wife.”

It was quiet for a moment.

And then her voice, a soft little whisper, asked the only question left to be asked.

“Do you still want me?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hide. He’d done enough of that. “Nothing has changed for me since the day we married. I know I scared you before. I scared myself too. But I promise you, I will be more careful now. I won’t hurt you like I did before. I will make sure you feel good.”

“I know you will. I trust you.”

She offered the sentiment so freely, and as he bent forward to kiss her, he swore to himself that he would always find a way to be worthy of that trust for as long as he lived.

Her lips met his and they moved together, bumping noses and touching tongues until her hands became impatient and she shoved at his nightshirt. He disposed of it quickly, yanking the cloth over his head and tossing it aside before returning to her. She was flat on her back now, and he hesitated only a moment before moving on top of her. He kissed her again, deeper now, enjoying the way her body surged up to meet his. There was no space between them anymore. He knew she could feel just how much he wanted her. And he knew also that he had to take his time.

So when she broke their kiss, he did not remain idle. He kissed from her mouth down her neck, along her chest, and lower.

“What are you doing?” she asked anxiously, lifting her head as he kissed his way down her stomach.

“What I should’ve done on our wedding night,” he replied as he rounded her navel.

She watched him dubiously, but she was too well-bred to protest. One of her hands rested atop her chest and the other was at her side. He took that one in his own, kissing her knuckles and her palm before taking a few minutes to explain what was going to happen once he put his head between her legs. He kept a casual finger tucked against her wrist as he spoke, tracking the rise in her pulse. He hoped it was excitement and not fear causing her heart to beat so fast.

“It won’t hurt,” he told her. “I promise you it won’t.”

“I trust you,” she whispered again.

He bent his head, kissing each of her hip bones before brushing a hand through the coarse curls between her legs. He glanced up at her one last time before lowering his head and licking her body open. He went slow and careful, taking his cues from her reactions. She was quick now to tell him if he did something she did not like, and he adjusted accordingly, but otherwise she was quiet as he continued. The most he got out of her were staccato gasps, and it was impossible to tell if they were truly appreciative or not.

After a few minutes, he had to pull away.

“I need you to help me,” he murmured, caressing her sides. “I need you to tell me what you like.”

“But I… I don’t know what I like.”

“Yes, you do,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her left thigh. “Or at least, your body does. I need you to listen to it, and tell me what you feel. Let me hear you, else I won’t know if you’re enjoying what I’m doing.”

“I _am_ enjoying it,” she insisted.

“Good.” He kissed her thigh again, gave her an encouraging smile. “Just let me hear it, all right?”

He returned his mouth to its place between her legs, and did his best to elicit all manner of satisfied sounds out of her body. He might be guilty of drawing it out longer than necessary, teasing her more than she deserved, but he could not help himself. It was addictive, the sounds of pleasure. And the taste of her… He wanted to spend all evening drinking her in like this.

But they had another task still to accomplish together, and the lower half of his body was becoming sorely impatient. When even he could not take anymore, he brought her fully to the edge and over it, murmuring soft assurances to her as she gasped and trembled beneath him.

When he drew himself up level with her, he found her smiling wide and lazy in the aftermath of satisfaction, and he wished so badly he could commit the sight to everlasting memory. She pulled him close and kissed him eagerly in thanks, and he relished in the small moan she gave off at the taste of herself in his mouth. He wondered if it was the first time she’d done so, and though he itched to ask, he put it off for another day. The hardness between his legs was crying out for relief. When he tried to find a diplomatic way to say as much, she cut him off gently.

“You don’t need to explain this part,” she whispered, touching his shoulders. “I know what’s going to happen. You can… You can go ahead.”

He sighed, bending down to nuzzle her throat. “You’re scared of me again.”

She shook her head, rubbing his shoulders. “Just… Just nervous.”

When he pulled away to look her in the eye, she smiled, and then pressed a firm kiss to his lips.

“Go on, please. I will feel better once you’re inside.”

He bit back a groan at her choice of words. One day, when they knew each other a little more, he’d need to sit her down and explain what hearing her say those sorts of things ever so innocently did to him. For now, he took her chin in hand and kissed her slow and deep, tickling the inside of her mouth with his tongue. He kept it up until her soft hands on his shoulders turned into greedy claws, and only then did he slide a hand between her open legs and guide himself inside.

Breaking their kiss, he dropped his head to her shoulder, biting his own lips so he wouldn’t bite her. It took more discipline than he expected to stop himself from cursing at the feel of her around him. Her hands were grappling at his back, his shoulders, unable to find whatever purchase they wanted. He kept himself sheathed inside her, giving them both time to adjust. And then slowly, carefully, he started to move. He picked his head up and watched her face, listening to every sound she made and doing his best to make up for all the nights he had failed to pay such close attention before.

Afterward they lay panting and speechless, sprawled out side by side with the covers tangled all around.

“We don’t have to do this every night,” he was quick to assure her. He was still breathing heavily, but he felt the need to get the words out so there wasn’t any more confusion or fear.

“What if I want it every night?”

He groaned, rolling onto his side to press his forehead against her shoulder. “Dear wife,” he murmured, finding her bare hip beneath the covers and squeezing it. “Please do not tempt me in this way. It is very cruel.”

She laughed, and moved closer beneath the covers until their naked bodies were touching once more, chest to chest. One of her hands smoothed over the curve of his shoulder and then down his chest, delighting in her new familiarity with his body. “What if I like tempting you?”

He touched a finger to her lips, and watched them part. He could feel her eager breath, warm against his skin.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured.

He took his finger away and kissed her, feeling his stomach boil when her mouth opened so easily for his own. He slid a hand behind her neck, careful not to catch or pull any of her braids. Usually she had them tucked away beneath a wrap at night, but tonight they were still free. Earlier, when they'd made love, her braids had rested like a crown atop her head.

Nile kept her eyes closed as he pulled away, and in the privacy of the moment, he studied her smiling face. So open and happy. So eager and willing. It was still a luxury to see her like this, after so many weeks of worry and second-guessing. Sébastien looked at her and he thought very calmly, _I could grow to love this woman._ He waited, but no anger or misery or guilt followed the thought. It did not feel like a betrayal, to try to love Nile. 

Joanna was gone and she would never come back. He had told Nile she would never replace his first wife and he meant it. But maybe she could be something new. Maybe together, they could find a different kind of happiness, a peace after all the pain.

“You asked earlier if you pleased me,” he whispered, breaking the silence.

He watched her face grow taut as her smile disappeared. He stroked his knuckles against her cheekbone, willing her silently to relax and face him.

When she did not, he said softly, “Look at me.”

She obediently opened her eyes, but avoided his stare. He had to tuck a finger beneath her chin and hoist it up until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Look at me, Nile, and know that you please me greatly.”

Her lips twitched, anxious at first and scared to believe, but then more confident. She was beaming when she next spoke, and so was he.

“I’m glad,” she whispered, “because you please me too. More than I ever hoped possible.”

**Author's Note:**

> @OP I adored your prompt SO MUCH, and I really hope this is the sort of fill you were looking for. <3 Thanks everyone for reading! I’d very much love to hear your thoughts! :))))


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